


We Who Live

by TheCursedTypewriter



Category: Long Exposure (Webcomic)
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Zombie AU, idk about graphic violence bu boi i'll try
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-29
Updated: 2017-07-08
Packaged: 2018-11-21 00:26:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11346222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheCursedTypewriter/pseuds/TheCursedTypewriter
Summary: “You better ‘got’ this, Joey.”“Totally.”





	1. Discovery

_Day 219_

_Jonas Wagner log-_

_It’s been 3 days and we haven’t found anything useful yet. We’ve brushed together ammo from previous shootouts downtown, and sealed food hidden in the bottom of garbage bins. All of these things we have back at HQ. What we could REALLY use about now would be more medical supplies. Antibiotics. Penicillin, mostly (But, even that’s a stretch considering where we are). We’re good on rubbing alcohol and I managed to find more gauze for us a little over a week ago. Thankfully we’re all pretty conscious of what we use. And what we NEED. It’s probably not safe, but what we really need to do is expand our grounds. Supplies are limited here in Sellwood, and we need to check new counties for stuff. Maybe even survivors? The radios aren’t working anymore, so we can’t contact people through there. Only one other way to try, I guess._

 

“You still writin’ in that fuckin’ diary, Joey?” He can hear it before he can see it, and a part of him panics at the way Mitch insists on _shouting_ it. Resting the aging pen into the crevice of the worn pages, he closes the beaten leather book and ties it shut, stuffing it hastily back into his pocket.

“It’s a JOURNAL.”

“No need to lie- I’m the only one out here.”

It’s amazing that, even in a global crisis, Mitchell Mueller has been capable of keeping his marbles all in one bag without dropping a single one. He’s remained the same stubborn, brutish, and oddly amiable man he was before the world had fallen to actual shit. No one could’ve predicted the apocalypse, of course, but even at such an inconvenient time Mitch hasn’t once lost his cool or panicked; Jonas himself can’t say he hasn’t had a breakdown yet. It must be something grand to brag about for Mitch. He ventures with almost carefree air, but then again they haven’t exactly bumped into more than four or five biters all at once. Regardless, having Mitch as a scavenging partner comforted Jonas’s feeble heart, for the most part. Who wouldn’t be when their boyfriend was a famed juvenile? 

Jonas shakes his head and huffs out a breath, tightening the strings on his hoodie and adjusting the hat atop his head stiffly. He’d taken up journal entries a month or so after the general outbreak, as a way to log the progression of the team and the infected. Sydney also liked to know what he did when he and Mitch took off to look for things alone. With her oblivious to their blossoming relationship, this would be a much quicker fix than sitting down and telling her every detail. However, lately things have been slow. No new finds, no perilous run-in’s, no raiders. Just a lot of downtime and failed scavenging. 

“Whatever. Is this the place you were talking about earlier?”

Jonas can’t remember seeing this side of Sellwood. At least, not recently. It didn’t look like it held much, though. Mostly litter, glass, abandoned cars, and rotting corpses. Thankfully they were in the middle of fall. Jonas wouldn’t be able to stand that morbid, pungent, sour smell of baking bodies under the summer sun. Their footsteps echo painfully loud, Mitch’s more so than his own, and he attempts to step toe-heel in order to avoid making too much of a ruckus.

Mitch takes quicker steps, now, opening his arms and gesturing to the Auto body shop before them. Its sign is faded and weak, the garage doors littered with graffiti and aged blood. The front door was barricaded with a vending machine (no doubt picked clean by other groups of people), and the window to the left of it was smashed in and boarded up. Jonas isn’t sure what to make of the scene, but doesn’t have time to verbally react as Mitch pipes up.

“Feast your eyes, Spots.”

An abandoned auto body shop next to some trashed corner store. On some deserted end of Sellwood. Boarded up and probably already ransacked. If Jonas hadn’t been pulled through three days of almost useless scavenging he’d attempt to indulge more in this find. Instead, his entire demeanor collapses and he hunches over, crossing his hands on top of his hat.

“Mitch, please tell me that you’re SURE there’s SOMETHING in here we can USE.”

A shrug.

“Don’t got a clue ‘til we look, amiright?”

Jonas sucks in a breath, but is interrupted as Mitch makes for the garage door furthest from the barricaded entrance.

“Relax, babe, i’m just fuckin’ with you. I know it don’t look like much, but the clownshit’s been talking game about this place all last week, and if times are desperate we might as well cave. If there’s nothin’ useful in here, feel free to knock my goddamn lights out and toss me to the biters, alright?”

Of course, Jonas would never do either of those things. His brows furrow, and he joins Mitch at the garage door.

“Alright, gimme a hand with this. Once it’s up, you slide in and see if there’s anything to hold it open with in there. It’s probably a chain lift, considering this place is old as fuck.” Mitch readies himself at the bottom.

“You’re sure it’s unlocked on the inside?” Did garage doors even come with locks?

“Pretty sure if this place was on lock down we woulda been two dead assholes on the street by now, right?”

It’s enough of a point for Jonas to join Mitch in a squat and, with combined strength, help raise the door with horrible screeches as the metal reclined into it’s belt. As they work to prop it open further, Jonas wonders if the noise is loud enough to attract a crowd, or echoes far enough to lure unwanted guests to their location as well. 

“Alright, slide in. I gotcha.” Mitch wheezes out as he pushes himself into Jonas’s space, supporting the door in a dead lift with clenched teeth as Jonas dropped to the ground and slid in. It’s raised enough for him to crawl through with general ease, thankfully enough. Quickly he rises to his feet and looks around the garage door. Mitch was right in his assumption of the door being a pulley over automatic; Lord knows he wouldn’t be able to hold the door open alone long enough to let Mitch in, no less if there wasn’t any power to help keep the door open. Grasping tightly onto the chain, he quickly gets to work, tugging the rusted links with strained grunts, setting one foot at its base and the other spread out a bit away from it for leverage.

“I got it, come in!” He puffs into his shoulder, and Mitch follows without hesitation, rolling in (a little more gracefully than Jonas had, admittedly) and helping him lower it back down as quietly as possible. 

The gate shuts with a metallic echo, and the two are left in the dark garage. Jonas is the first to scramble for his flashlight, clicking it on and sighing with relief. Darkness in the zombie apocalypse was never a good thing. Mitch follows shortly after, scanning the room. It’s not as terrible as Jonas would’ve thought it’d be. The only thing really getting to him in the room was the hoard of biter bodies piled together in the corner, filling the room with a foul odor. Not enough to send Jonas’s nose digging for the collar of his sweater, but enough to earn a disgusted grunt from the both of them.

There’s work benches scattered around the wide space, as well as two busted cars. Mitch confirms minutes later that they’ve been left dry bones; no motor, no gas, nothing useful in or out of the car for them. 

“You try the shelves. I’m gonna have a go at that front room.” Mitch sighs, popping his back with sickening clicks and moving for the door. It’s got an old bloodstain marking the front, leading down to the floor, and towards the pile. It makes Jonas’s stomach flip. ‘If the place were occupied, we’d be dead on the street before we got in’ Jonas reassures himself. He’s not in much a mood to argue against Mitch’s words, more than sure that this sudden authority is the result of a very uninterested and exhausted Mueller.

The shelves lined the very back of the garage, thick iron plates wide enough for a person, held up by sturdy iron bars welded to the floor. He’s hopeful as he begins to shuffle through tool boxes and plastic crates, taking out unnecessary bits and keeping a sharp eye for any medicine or water. Maybe if he found the right things, he could create a sort of filtration device with Lewis and head down to the beach to collect cartons of water? That’d be useful for their group. There’s confidence brewing somewhere in Jonas’s belly, but it’s quickly flushed out by the sound of thumping in the front room. Where, Mitch was.

His heart stops. There’s grunting now, and cursing. More thumping. Lot’s of thumping. Confidence is now panic, and it’s climbing up into Jonas’s throat. He can’t breathe a word, and instead he shakily reaches for the rifle hanging over his back, bringing it forward and shakily feeding it’s barrel (Scratch had been the one to nab Cliff’s hunting rifle away from him in order to give him and Mitch some protection against the odds. Javier and Sidney both simultaneously agreed that Jonas would be more responsible with a gun in his hands than Mitch, surprisingly enough).

Carefully, he approaches the door. All he’d have to do would be to listen in, bust it down, and take down whatever was wriggling about in there. Maybe use a workbench to give himself some protection? And Mitch… God, was Mitch fighting one right now? His hand quakes as it approaches the shabby curved handle, gold paint peeling to reveal the rusty brown beneath.

He clasps onto it.

Before he has the chance to twist, it’s flung open with a loud bang and, in the heat of the moment, Jonas loses his hold on his gun, letting out a screech that pinches his lungs and scratches his throat as the figure collapses on top of him, a withered body with ribs poking out under rotten skin and teeth missing from its hollow skull. He writhes and shoves, frantically calling out for Mitch’s help.

There’s nothing but the sound of his panic and laughter as he musters up the adrenaline-powered strength to shove the biter away. 

Wait, laughter?

Jonas pauses.

Wheezing, leading right into throaty laughs, straight from the bottom of his chest and up. Mitch Mueller, sliding down the wall with arms crossed over his stomach, very much amused with the scene in front of him. Jonas can feel tears welling up as he inspects the corpse, finding it to be a long lost person and not a vicious biter. Angry. He’s very, very angry.

His whole body trembles as he gets to his feet, throwing the rifle back over his shoulder and pushing at Mitch’s knobby knees with his foot hastily.

“What the **hell** is wrong with you!? That’s not funny!” Mitch’s laughter dies down enough for him to stand properly.

“What if that one wasn’t dead!?” He pushes at Mitch’s chest, and the taller male grabs his wrists. Jonas can feel his heart pounding through his ribs, as well as each rusty chuckle that bumps around under Mitch’s chest.

“Relaaax, Joey, it was a joke, holy shit.” Any attempts to move away are lost as Mitch keeps him still, letting the last of his laughs loose before slinging an arm over his shoulders.

“Front room’s clear. Or, now it is, since dead guy there’s out. There’s a backroom behind the counter that’s locked but I can probably pick it.”

Jonas is silent as he moves into the room, sliding out of Mitch’s grasp and out on his own. Mitch clicks his tongue.

“C’mon, don’t be like that... I’m sorry it was a shitty prank.”

“Super shitty…”

“Did I just hear Joey fuckin’ Wagner curse?” Jonas crosses his arms and scowls. “Must’a really shook you up if it’s got you cursing.”

Another pause. Mitch carefully approaches the freckled boy, resting a hand on his shoulder.

“You mad at me? You’re doin’ the uh, thing with your face that tells me I fucked up.”

Jonas could never stay mad at him. He gives into the touch, taking a moment to soak in it’s sincerity and breathe before playfully shoving his shoulder. 

“Definitely.”

Mitch grins and sighs with relief, digging around in his pocket.

“Shame. I really did wanna let you do the honors of breaking n’ enterin’. Guess it’s gonna be up to me to do all that shit alone, huh?”

Jonas smiles. “As punishment, you jerk.”

Mitch hops the counter and groans dramatically, pulling out his switchblade and jamming it into the lock, giving a few rough turns before retracting it with a soft click. He shoves it open with his foot, sticking his head in and giving an affirmative nod towards his partner.

“No dead inside. All yours to explore, Spots.”

It’s probably the most reassuring thing he’s heard in the past ten minutes. Clambering over the counter, he joins Mitch at the entry, double checking to make sure he wasn’t attempting to pull another fast one on him, and sliding into the room. It’s gotta be some kind of old break room, possessing three fold up chairs, a small table, and a mini fridge. The counters are littered with garbage and a thick, black inky liquid that glistens whenever his flashlight roams over it, most likely a combination of blood and oil if smell was any indicator. There’s cabinets above those filthy counters, and some sort of door hidden off to the left. Probably lead to the back of the shop where shipments were made. Jonas knew absolutely nothing about auto body shops or how they were run, but he was willing to guess that that was how places like these worked. 

Mitch joins him in the room moments later, grunting at the sight of the counter’s condition. 

“Real pig’s eye in here, huh Spots?”

Jonas snorts. “Pig sty.”

“Whatever the fuck.” Mitch huffs back, and Jonas rolls his eyes. He moves for the fridge as Mitch starts on the cabinets, making comments on the state of them and the smell, and at one point hopping away as a mouse shimmied out from the confine and darted between his legs.

The fridge holds nothing too valuable; old, empty beer cans, used condiments, and a suspicious liquid in a green bottle he makes sure not to get too close to. Mitch finds 3 Duracell batteries among the muck that are quickly tossed into his travel bag. 

Mitch makes a move for the suspicious door and, not wanting to bang up his knife too much, brings the rusted pipe he kept tucked in his bag down over it, snapping the handle off it’s hinges and guaranteeing them a very unlocked door.

“You wanna check this out, too?” He calls, and Jonas follows after him.

“We can both do it? I don’t think there’s anything left in this room, so some extra help is appreciated.”

There’s a short silence before Mitch’s face lights up.

“You’re just scared that more biters are gonna be out there waiting for you, huh?”

“Absolutely not!” Jonas retorts. 

“Chicken.” Mitch chuckles, but moves aside to let Jonas enter regardless, following closely behind. 

Jonas first notes the chain link fence, most likely separating the shop from the corner store. So it WASN’T a delivery site, but it was a close enough guess, if the wooden crates stacked along the alley’s walls were anything to go by. He also notes the solid brick wall sitting before them, and the backstreet to their right that was also fenced off. The lock on either fence seems too thick to break, and is sealed with a number code. Jonas groans at this, letting his fingers tangle into the fence’s braids. It’s too tall to hop, much to his dismay, and the spaces between the fence are too small for his shoes to fit into. However…

Jonas turns to Mitch.

“Give me a boost.”

He stares back incredulously.

“A what?”

“A boost!” Jonas is determined yet again. “I’ll go to the other side and see if I can get anything out of those boxes. Whatever’s good I’ll try sliding under the fence, and then I’ll meet you around on the other side. That alley must lead to the main road, so, we’ll see each other there.”

Jonas puts on a winning smile, full of confidence. Mitch’s expression, however, is wary; it’s a look that bears close resemblance to the face Sidney made whenever Jonas volunteered to go scavenging with Mitch. He shakes his head.

“You crazy? And get fucked over by whatever the hell might be on that side?”

“I’ll be careful! If there were anything on the other side, it would’ve either made noise or put us down earlier, right? Trust me on this.”

“Yeah, but-”

“Mitch.” A brief pause. He rests his hand on Mitch’s clothed bicep, brows upturned. “I’ve got this. It’ll be super quick. We need the supplies. Please?”

There’s pregnant silence as Mitch seems to stare beyond just his eyes, searching for an excuse to disagree and try some other alternative. Jonas knows that, despite Mitch’s generally uncaring and aloof nature, he worries much more than he lets on. Mitch groans, trudging out of his boyfriend’s hold and over to the gate, flopping back into it. He moves into a slight squat with his hands out in front of his crotch, fingers interlaced.

“You better ‘got’ this, Joey.” 

“Totally.”

He stands before Mitch and settles a hand over each bony shoulder, exhaling a breath. 

“I won’t like, break your back or anything right?” They haven’t exactly had to boost one another before now…

Mitch grins. “You really gonna ask me that? Gimme your foot and hop over, angel.”

If only he’d felt as light as one. Another breath, and he brings a foot up to rest in Mitch’s wide palms, pushing his body up and bringing his other foot down on Mitch’s shoulder, earning him a soft grunt as his heel dug into the bone there. There’s a moment of struggle, however, as Jonas falls short of the gate’s top. 

“Shoot... Can you raise me up any higher?”

Mitch doesn’t need to voice his capability. He pulls Jonas’s foot up higher, clearly struggling to keep as still as he’d wanted to. 

“Take your time, babe. I enjoy the view down here.”

“The view?”

“Yeah. It’s got two pockets and a very interesting hole inside the thigh.”

A what!?

Jonas’s face burns, and he digs his foot into Mitch’s shoulder a little rougher than necessary, a haughty laugh sounding out under him. He shuffles a bit, but decides it’s now or never, and pushes himself up just enough to latch onto the top with a delighted ‘ha!’.

“Okay! Uh, quick, push my feet up a little bit. I’ll try and swing the rest of me over!”

Mitch does as he’s asked and shoves Jonas up just enough to throw a leg over, straddling the pole for a moment before slowly lowering himself onto the other side, letting go and landing on the floor with a heavy ‘oof’ and a slight stumble. He turns around to see Mitch pressed up to the fence with his eyes glued on Jonas, worry tugging at his brows.

“I’m alright! I almost slipped, is all.”

That seems to quell some of the fear in his features, and he quickly takes out his switchblade. 

“Here, try usin’ this to pop the nails out” Mitch slides the knife under the gate, and Jonas takes it.

“I guess you’ve done stuff like this before?” Jonas is suddenly very aware of Mitch’s juvenile tendencies. These kinds of things seem almost practiced to him. 

“You got a lot to learn, and I got more to teach, baby. Now hurry up and see what these fuckin’ things got in ‘em before a biter catches you.” There’s a moment of slight panic as Jonas realizes the very likely possibility of being caught off his guard. 

Without another moment’s hesitation, he works on the boxes greedily, popping nails with an ease not even he was aware he could muster. Slates of wood are moved and leaned to the side, all while Mitch watches over him like a vulture. The crates are stuffed to the brim with bubble wrapped and withered tarp, and it’s only after box two that Jonas realizes that these are all abandoned shipments. Which could only mean....

“Auto shops get car battery deliveries, right?” It’s more an inquiry to himself as he climbed onto the completed crates, beginning to search hastily through the tarp of the newer ones, but Mitch answers cautiously.

“I mean, can’t run a car business if you ain’t got shit for the car, right?”

Just as Mitch concludes his reply Jonas lets out a muffled laugh into his hands.

Two car batteries, both only slightly beat up and seemingly unused. His palms itch and his heart races; this was by far their best find!! A battery could charge up a generator, kick-start the heaters, juice up Scratch’s car enough to drive out of Sellwood to another safer hideout! 

He brings a knee forward to balance himself as he reached for the batteries at the bottom, only sufficing to bump the slate out of the way and drop to the floor with a loud wooden clatter as the nails sprang loose and the wood cracked against the pavement. His whole body tenses, and his head jerks up. It takes only a moment before an animalistic grunt echoes close by. Followed by two, three more of the same nature. Jonas panics, and he can hear Mitch shaking the gate behind him.

“Joey, you gotta come back over, they’re-” Jonas reaches back into the crate hurriedly. They’re coming from his left, but there’s a whole hallway to the right. They need this. Their team NEEDS this! He’s too far in now not to return with something great. 

“I’ve got two batteries, Mitch-”

“Joey-” More rattling fence. More terrifying screeches. Jonas hauls one into his arm. 

“Mitch we have to bring these back before someone else finds them!”

A holler. More are coming. Much more than he’s used to hearing.

“Joey, fuck those batteries and fuck what we need, right now you have to-”

Everything halts as Jonas’ eyes lock with the biter, freshly turned and very hungry, jittering and spazzing as it used the wall to thrust itself forwards. He’s too scared to speak, too scared to think; the air in his lungs flee, and he’s left winded with no exertion. His heart beat slows dangerously, and for a moment Jonas fears he may actually pass out right there and then. Time flies by horrendously slow in the few seconds Jonas meets the biter’s gaze, but just as quickly as the sudden pause had come it had fled. Without warning, Jonas breaks for the stretch of street opposite of the way the biter had come in, a single battery tucked in his arms. 

“Joey!?” Mitch’s voice grows distant as he books it down the alley, the sound of biters soon draining nearly every other sound around him. He has to move NOW. These things are fast, and the new ones are even faster. He just has to push himself right now.

“ **JONAS!!** ”

He has to push.


	2. Chase

He’s an idiot.

He’s by far the biggest idiot he knows at this very moment. More idiotic than Scratch, who held the world record for getting the most shit stuck up her nose in a week. More idiotic than Javier, who had lost his phone after dangling it over a sewage drain promising it was too big to slip through the gaps. Even more idiotic than Cliff, who had almost shot his toes off TWICE trying to prove that his steel-toe boots were more durable than bullets.

He would be the first to single-handedly kill the love of his life with IRONY. 

Jonas had abandoned him at the fence after the first biter had dashed in, and the conga line to follow had Mitch panicking. For the first time in 219 days, Mitchell was finally losing every one of his marbles at once. 

“Jonas, Jonas- fuck, baby, JONAS-!” It finally occurs to him that yanking at the lock on the fence was only stalling, and wasting what precious moments his boyfriend had in this situation. The biter that lunges at the fence is what urges him to dart back into the shop.

“FUCK!” He shouts as his foot went out under him, having slipped on the blood grease that had been drooling from the counter tops. It smelled, and his only clothes until the next scavenging trip were ruined, but he was more than sure he’d survive. 

He scrambles to his feet with all the grace of a deer on ice, before bolting through the door and leaping over the counter, slamming chest first into the vending machine. It’s at times like these that Mitch wishes that super powers were a thing in real life, so he could lift this measly contraption out of his way. He gives it two hard shoves with his shoulder, before realizing the door to his left wide open. It lead back into the garage. Not even the biters could out scream his onslaught of curses as he dashed into the garage and desperately yanked at the chain lift. 

“SHIT FUCK FUCKING IDIOT, MITCH _GODDAMN_ MUELLER YOU DUMB MOTHERFUCK-” The garage is open, but now comes the issue of keeping it open long enough to slide out and break. He can’t risk getting caught under the door; Jonas has scolded him once before for trying to do that by himself after a trip that ended up with Mitch limping back to their little camp. These are all memories he can’t consider right now. 

Mitch frantically reaches a leg out for one of the nearby benches, quickly kicking it into the gap before completely releasing the chain in his hand, the garage door coming down on its steel surface with a resounding bang. More biters are coming, and he can’t waste any time trying to be sneaky. Jonas was still in trouble. Mitch needed to fix this NOW.

With the door open, Mitch practically throws himself out and back into the street, just barely catching the back of a biter as it darted down the same alleyway. He doubts that taking them all will be a good idea.

“I’m comin’ baby, I’m comin’. I’m comin’ for you, Joey.” Picking up speed, Mitch begins to make straight down the road, following buildings only with his peripherals before spotting a corner and quickly running down that street.

Biters are groaning and shouting just ahead of him, and he knows that Jonas is still on the run. His baby is still alive and well, but this won’t be for long. Not without some distance to take them out. Passing a loaded garbage can, Mitch snags the lid of it and reaches hastily behind his shoulder for his pipe, further quickening his pace. Jonas has to be here somewhere. There has to be a street that cuts out, or some kind of four-way road where they’d all burst into. They all sound muffled; were they further away now? 

Something inside the 7/11 to his right moves. Many things move. Biters.

“What the hell is your plan, baby...” Mitch huffs, twisting himself in order to urge his legs right, closing in on the gas station enough to safely begin making as much noise as possible to lead them away. If not all, then some; anything to give Jonas a chance. Mitch could run for years with his lithe and lanky figure, but he knew that if Jonas pushed too hard, he’d go overboard and shut down. Fall, get tired, pass out; a helpless meal. Mitch couldn’t have this. Never-

A gunshot interrupts his cacophony of warbled metal cries, followed by two, three more shots. The windows of the pit stop glow with each, and Mitch watches, completely awestruck. Did he get them?

There’s no time to feel proud as the shouting grows more and more enthusiastic, and the sound of a door being slammed somewhere shakes him from his thoughts. Jonas was back on the move.

Mitch needed to think of something. The strip of homes and convenience stores made it impossible to properly locate Jonas at this rate. There had to be another way. Mitch needed a miracle.

He rushes past the store with vigor, a bone chilling adrenaline coursing through his veins.

“Just hang on a little longer, baby. Mitchy’s comin’.”

 

_______________

 

What the heck was his plan?

He was able to knock out two of the biters with three shots, but that only served to attract the rest in his exact direction. There was another door in the back past the service counter, and that only lead out into another stretch of alley. How the heck would he get out of this? 

Jonas needed a miracle.

He swears he’s skipping the next three scavenging trips, even if it kills him. Well, hoping that this one won’t kill him first. His legs ache, and every step he takes is beginning to shoot up in white hot streaks from his knees and into his thighs. Jonas shames the gelatinous that hops around under his sweater alongside the battery crammed into his pocket as he runs, huffing out heavily past the tears that began to strain his speech.

“Stupid big belly, stupid short legs, stupid dumb ideas!!!” The biters couldn’t care less for his suffering. He hugs the rifle close to his chest as inspiration to keep pushing himself despite his horrible flaws. Jonas had brought this upon himself. He was the one who guilted Mitch into tossing him over the fence. He was the one who insisted on making it out with both batteries. He put himself right into harm’s way with no means of protection despite a long range rifle low on ammo. Heck, he’d probably screwed Mitch over as well, luring the biters right to the auto body shop where he would soon join that horrendous stack of bodies in the corner. Jonas’s sobs come out as desperate puffs of air as he soaked in what might be the last few moments of his life. 

He had single-handedly killed his boyfriend and himself with his selfishness.

The alley is drawing to a close, and the biters are closing in. Jonas, his vision blurred with tears, trips over a lip in the concrete just before the end of the alley, successfully scraping up his knees and cheek as he collided with the wall before him. The pain consumes his lower body in a full sweep, making any and all movement increasingly more agonizing. But Sidney would’ve wanted him to put up a fight. Mitch would’ve wanted him to put up a fight.

Rolling stiffly onto his back, he hurriedly scoots back into the wall and sits up, reloading the rifle in his arms with trembling fingers. He can’t see straight, and the tension of approaching biters only makes it harder for him to focus. 

There’s only two bullets loaded, but it’s all he can muster with the pinch of time he has left.

A biter lunges and he fires, managing to blast through its jaw. The biter falls flat, but another jumps out in succession to the prior. Jonas shrieks as it clings onto his ankle, turning his face and firing at what he hopes is it’s head. 

What he expects after his final shot is screeches and gurgles and groans as he’s picked apart by an onslaught of biters, each rotted and bone thin corpse going to town at his bloody and deformed carcass, providing quite the filling meal for those lucky enough to eat him first.

What he does not expect is more gunshots. Nor the biter at his leg to fall limply to the ground. His eyes widen and he looks around desperately. Who…?

“JONAS!” 

He quickly looks up, just in time to see one amazing, perfect, incredible Mitch Mueller leaning over the roof of the building’s wall he’d crashed into, arm extended. Jonas can’t tell if Mitch can make out what he gurgles in his joyful blubbering, but doesn’t have time to repeat himself as Mitch lowers himself just a little further over the edge.

“Come on baby, get up! Get up and take my hand, we’re gettin' the fuck outta here right now.”

Jonas can comply with that. He starts up on wobbly knees, but a loud shout snaps him back into the moment. He’s still very much being followed. Quickly he loads in another bullet, taking aim and putting the biter’s knee out in a blast of aging cloth and flesh. That would buy him some time. He slings the rifle back over his shoulder and, with what energy he can still muster, leaps up. Their hands collide in a loud smack, and they both grunt with the new stress of the task. Another large hand joins the first, coming down instead on the bend of his elbow to avoid pulling anything out of its socket.

Just as he begins to soak in the glory of being rescued, something powerful takes hold of his ankle and yanks. Hard. Mitch and Jonas both let out a startled shout, and Jonas twists enough to watch the biter open its mouth. A bite meant an infection, and an infection meant that Jonas would have to be put down. Or, have a leg removed. Too risky.

“Shoot!” He cries, quickly bringing his free foot down on the biter’s forehead in a half-kick. That nudges it back, but not enough to give Jonas a chance to climb. Another kick. The biter opens its mouth once more, and with a terrified shout Jonas puts his remaining energy into a final blow, his heel bursting through the exposed skull and crushing its frontal lobe, downing the biter at the cost of a decent pair of Converse. 

New task: climb. Jonas reaches out with his free hand and takes a fist full of Mitch’s jacket desperately, trying his best to haul himself up enough for Mitch to drag him the rest of the way. Thankfully, the remaining biters can’t climb or jump. They claw the bricks as Jonas makes the rest of the way up, dropping down on Mitch’s body limply. He’s worn out, his legs ache, and his face is starting to burn pretty bad from that trip earlier. He almost doesn’t respond as he’s rolled onto his back, Mitch hovering over him and yanking him up into his arms.

“ **Jesus fuckin’ Christ on a motorbike** , baby, that was fuckin’ close. You almost, down there-” Jonas brings his hands up to Mitch’s shoulders, his fingers jittering as the adrenaline wore off.

“I almost- fuck, Joey i’m the worst piece a’ shit boyfriend, you could’ve-” He can feel Mitch shaking, one big hand knotted in his hair and the other squeezing the breath out of his lungs. He’s never seen Mitch this shaken up. The guy can’t even manage a stable sentence without stuttering. 

Jonas buries his face into the crook of Mitch’s neck, squeezing him as best as he could. The rambling dies down, but it doesn’t stop the shaking. Or the crying. Jonas was mostly the one crying.

“I almost lost you, Joey.”

For a long while, there’s nothing more that he can register other than the embrace. He knows that the biters are still snapping and hollering below them somewhere in the background, and he knows that he had gotten hurt from falling just a few minutes ago as well. All of these things his mind in numbly aware of. The thing that holds his attention now is the way Mitch breathes his name against his neck, hot and wet with approaching fatigue. The way Mitch’s hands continue to shake, even with a firm, safe grasp on him. The way the embrace locks him into one place and yet opens a world of peace and security for him once more. Jonas and Mitch are still very much alive and in one piece. He can be grateful for that.

Jonas is the first to lean back, wiping his teary eyes and cheeks with his sleeves drawn over his palms.

“Ouch…” Oh, right. The scrapes on his face.

“Shit, they didn’t-?”

“No,” Jonas quickly interrupts. “No, i’m not bit or scratched… I, hit the wall when I fell down… When we get back, i’ll just need some rubbing alcohol or something.” He smiles awkwardly, but Mitch reaches out with tender hands. He wants to be touched, adored, bombarded with affection and reassurance after that traumatic shit show. But, maybe not here. He takes Mitch’s hands before they can reach his face, and instead hugs them to his chest.

“I’m really glad you found me when you did, Mitch.” Mitch’s fingers curl over Jonas’s knuckles, and he scoffs.

“Only one allowed to eat you is me.” Har har.

“We haven’t even used tongue, Mitch.” It’s a silly argument to be having with a sea of biters on the ground just a dozen feet below, but it returns a sense of comfort. Even if that comfort comes in the form of inappropriate flirting.

“Not YET we haven’t. After all this shit you bet i’m knocking everything out of the list of crazy shit we haven’t tried yet.” They’re both breathless as they chuckle over Mitch’s joke. It’s half-assed and poorly executed, but it soothes Jonas’s nerves. Reminds him that so long as he and Mitch have each other, there’s hope for survival all the way out here.

Looking down and away from Mitch’s growing stare, Jonas notes something shiny sticking halfway out of the hem of his jeans. He reaches for his shirt, lifting it up and away from the source.

A handgun. A very, familiar handgun…

“Mitch, you snagged Sidney’s gun?” Mitch’s intense gaze dies down, replaced quickly with a bashful wall of grey teeth. 

“Probably?” He draws the word out, and Jonas scoffs.

“She’s gonna lose it when she finds out you took it after what she said.” And what she had said, word for word, was that ‘criminals can’t be trusted with firearms’. 

“She’ll live,” Mitch shrugs, getting to his feet and instinctively helping Jonas up to his own. “We ended up needing it pretty bad, didn’t we? Saved your ass in a pinch.” 

Jonas can’t deny that. 

“You’re truly the humble hero I deserve.” Jonas nudges Mitch’s arm with his shoulder, but doesn’t release the hand after shuffling on his heels a bit.

“Come on, we gotta go before more of those things figure out a way up.”

“Joey?”

Jonas pauses as the hand engulfing his own squeezes. Mitch looks, childish in a way. A way that makes Jonas turn completely to face him.

“Yeah?” Mitch’s hands move up to Jonas’s shoulders, before his thumbs begin to slide up the sides of his neck. Maybe indulging in a little PDA wouldn’t hurt…

The kiss is soft, much softer than what was considered normal for a Mueller kiss. And when he parts he makes this face that Jonas melts for; it’s full of something he can’t explain, but it feels honest and genuine. It’s warm, and wow Jonas never realized just how nice that shade of brown was in Mitch’s eyes before. 

He’s brought into a full embrace that leaves his scuffed cheek and nose squished against Mitch’s jacket zipper, but indulges nonetheless, hooking both arms tiredly around the thin girth of Mitch’s waist. He exhales, and Mitch slides a hand over his back. Whether it’s meant to soothe him or reassure Mitch that Jonas is good and well, Jonas isn’t sure, but it’s a nice feeling.

“Your zipper hurts my face, Mitch.” Jonas never was very good at holding the moment. 

“Want me to take off my jacket?” Mitch hums into his hair. He can feel the goosebumps rising on his arms; Mitch really did have a nice whispering voice.

“No, it’s okay, but can I…?” Jonas pulls back some, readjusts his footing, and goes in again, this time allowing his other cheek to be smushed against the zipper. He can feel Mitch chuckle.

“Y’know sometimes I think you’re more of a fuckin’ train wreck with this stuff than I am, Spots.” 

Well, with the moment now properly lost, Jonas snorts against the fabric of Mitch’s sweater before pulling back completely, reaching into his own sweater pocket and tugging out the fat battery.

“You hold onto this. I think I have a bruise from where it was bumping into me.” Mitch takes it with a _tsk_ , eyeing the battery with almost accusing eyes before stuffing it back into his own pocket. 

 

___________

 

“What’re we gonna tell Sidney this time?” Jonas asks quietly, and Mitch almost loses the question among the sound of crunching leaves; he’d suggested they took a shortcut through the forest after the hell that was raised on the streets, but if Mitch had to be completely honest (which he was hoping he wouldn’t have to be), he was just about as sure of where they were as Jonas was.

He shrugs against the shorter body, squeezing his palm against his shoulder and bunching up the fabric there. 

“Same shit we say every time?” No reason to change the story, right?

“Well yeah, but I mean like, about my knees and face.” Oh. Those. The entire reason they were this close was because it hurt Jonas to walk without support after he fucked up his knees. Of course Mitch knew that was because of the biters. But Sidney didn’t. That was a really good question.

“Uh…” He, ran into a pole? Tripped going down some stairs? Bumped into a wall? Something that wasn’t the right answer. Mitch was great with excuses, but this one situation might be tough to explain if it wasn’t believable. Not that any of his excuses were ever believable. He wonders why Jonas thinks asking him is a good idea.

He can feel the shorter boy lean into him more, his slow steps coming to an almost complete stop. Mitch is on top of it all.

“What’sa’ matter, babe? Your knees again?” Mitch drops to his own to inspect them, and Jonas rests his weight into the closest tree trunk he can feel. Mitch wouldn’t notice the blush on his face as his fingers sought the tears in his jeans.

“M-Mitch?” Mitch’s head snaps up to catch a wide-eyed Jonas, hands outstretched but not touching. Realization hits them both at the same exact moment.

“Oh my god.”

“Mitch, don’t-”

“Are you scared of me touching it-”

“What? No! I’m-”

“You so fuckin’ are, Joey!” Mitch can’t hold back his sneer; this is priceless.

“Mitch.” Jonas shrinks back against the tree with a scowl, but Mitch doesn’t plan to push it. Not now, at least. Rising to his feet, he watches Jonas cross his arms into his pits, keeping his grimace glued to the ground. He has the greatest boyfriend ever.

“Fine, I’ll leave ‘em be. C’mon.”

Mitch turns his back on Jonas momentarily before taking a knee in front of him. There’s a stretch of silence that assures him that Jonas doesn’t read minds after all.

“I’m gonna carry you back, then we can take care of your fucked up knees.”

More silence, before leaves start shuffling and small hands steady themselves on his shoulders. He can feel them knead at his jacket.

“Are you sure?” Mitch can feel something bubbling up in his gut. Disbelief? Disappointment? Why did Jonas not realize how perfect he was just as he was? 

“Mitch?”

Shit, right.

“Not even a problem, baby. Just don’t choke me out, alright?” Mitch was into a lot of weird shit, but choking would always sit in that grey area. 

Jonas makes a stressed sound before pushing into Mitch’s back, properly slinging himself over his shoulders before shimmying to hop. Mitch readies his arms, and totally doesn’t almost fall backwards when Jonas insists on bouncing on top of him instead of offering a leg first. 

Mitch grunts and huffs, swaying on his feet as he rises, but powers through it, more than thrilled by the idea of being able to give his boyfriend a piggyback ride home. Jonas makes small “oh’s” and “shoot’s” as Mitch regains his footing, occasionally asking if he was too heavy.

Mitch would take a blade to the throat before he ever made Jonas feel self conscious about his weight.

“Even more importantly," Mitch avoids Jonas's question. “Your knees aren’t hurting or nothin’, right?”

“They sting, but not so much now.” Jonas readjusts his hold on Mitch’s shoulders, using his thighs to climb further up his long stretch of torso. Mitch is in heaven.

“There we go. Enough waitin’ around, it’s time to get out of this shithole forest and back to base before your sister loses her fuckin’ mind.” 

“I think us being late won’t upset her as much as seeing me all messed up will.”

Mitch can agree with that. In all honesty, he wasn’t sure of what all could set Jonas’s clone off. A whole book of things could. The only prominent ones to him were Jonas being anything but happy, and Mitch existing. 

“I hope she doesn’t blame you for any of this stuff.” Jonas sighs pleasantly next to his ear, and Mitch’s smile near splits his skull.

“If she does, I’ll just sit n’ take the ear full. Ain’t nothin’ she’s said that I haven’t already heard, y’know? It’ll be alright, Joey.”

Jonas sighs, but nods, resting his face on the arm wound across Mitch’s collarbone.

There’s nothing but the sounds of Jonas breathing and leaves crunching before Mitch decides to spark up another quiet conversation, the grin on his face softening.

“Hey, Joey?”

“Yeah?”

“Plan on putting this sweet ride in your diary later?”

He deserves that flick to the back of his neck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FORGOT THAT THIS HAD TO COME OUT THIS WEEK HAHA. Many thanks to those who've read this fic as a whole!!

**Author's Note:**

> I'm like, the 100th person to say this is my first mitjo fic SORRY HAHA. Hopefully this one isn't too bad. Had to pump out something zombie related after replaying TLOU for the third time hehe. Thank you for reading! The second chapter may be out sometime next week, hopefully. 
> 
> Scream about mitjo stuff to me on my tumblr @thehauntedumbrella!


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